To Face Death
by Trolley
Summary: Mark and Jesse go help out the police in the capture of a few criminals. Nothing too new, right? But when things go totally awry, Mark must keep himself and Jesse alive while waiting for help. *COMPLETE! Sorry it took so long to get the last part up!*
1. The Disaster

*Note: This story is not a sequel, if someone wants to write a story about the case that the fab four had been working on leading up to the forthcoming events, feel free to knock yourself out, I'd love to read about it! I just wanted to write a story about the bond between Mark and Jesse.*  
  
Disclaimer: The characters herein do not belong to me, blah, blah, you know the drill! Tehe! Enjoy!  
  
***  
  
Right on cue, a slightly smiling Jesse proudly pulled himself off the ground, unharmed. The criminals, at the realization that they had been duped, attempted to flee before stopped and arrested by three cops, who had been hiding in the shadows of the small warehouse as the two doctors carried out their clever trick. Jesse was always being used in ploys with his friends to catch murderers, and he was almost beginning to enjoy it. It made him feel really important. He was startled awake from his ponderings by Mark patting him on the back.   
  
"Good work Jess," Mark chuckled congenially. He was really proud of Jesse for being such a good sport through all of this. The young doctor always amused Mark in his exuberant eagerness to help solve all of the cases.  
  
Jesse grinned. "You didn't do too bad yourself, Mark."  
  
There was a slight pause. "Yeah, I just wish Steve were here to arrest these guys," the older man sighed.  
  
"Yeah," Jesse agreed, "what a day to be home sick."  
  
Steve had been on this case and nearly had it cracked, of course with the help of his father and friends, when he suddenly came down with a miserable sinus infection and was forced to stay home in bed by his very adamant father, who assured him that he and Jesse, of course along with the rest of the LAPD, would take care of it.  
  
The two doctors turned to follow the police from the building when pandemonium broke out. An explosion shook the warehouse, causing temporary confusion. One of the criminals, knowing in advance of the impending blast, had his firearm ready when the police officer momentarily lost control of him in the chaos. He, being a criminal and therefore not a very decent fellow, of course harbored hostile feelings toward the men who had helped him get arrested. He raised his gun in the direction of the easiest target, which just happened to be the old man, who had his back turned to him. He fired a perfectly aimed shot at Mark's back.  
  
Jesse, who, in the disarray just happened to be turned towards the doorway, caught sight of the man aiming a gun at Mark. With next to no hesitation and a bellow of, "Mark!!", Jesse dove into the path of the bullet, ramming Mark into a pile of boxes, as time seemed to slow. The boxes and pile of sawdust onto which he fell broke Mark's fall, leaving him only to wonder what Jesse what up to. He was soon to discover this mystery as he spotted Jesse writhing on the floor in a small puddle of blood. He was especially startled at the realization that this was Jesse's own blood.  
*  
As Jesse doggedly dove into Mark, with no regard for his own safety, he soon came to the awareness of exactly what he had done as a bullet tore into his chest, knocking him with a grunt of pain to the floor.  
*  
Meanwhile, the cops, barely realizing the intentions of the criminals during the blast, quickly secured their quarry and dragged them through the doorway, which caved in behind them, leaving the two doctors trapped in the burning building. 


	2. The Predicament

Mark pulled himself off the burning ground and ran over to Jesse, as gently as possible moving him away from the middle of the burning building, which seemed ready to cave in on itself at any moment. He spotted a small corner, which, for some unknown, un-need-to-know reason, seemed rather stable and as of yet untouched by the flames and wreckage.   
  
Jesse grunted in pain as he tried to help Mark move him to wherever they were going. He was losing blood fast and he could feel the bullet lodged in his upper right chest near his collarbone. Jesse relaxed slightly as Mark gently lay him down. He felt himself nearly black out for a moment.  
  
Mark nervously lowered his profusely bleeding friend to the floor as he got the bright idea to check up on their situation, and to retrieve his medical bag, which he had left in his briefcase in the middle of the building. But as he rushed back to the proverbial "cavern of safety," a beam fell from the ceiling, and, while luckily narrowly missing his head, landed with a crunch on his outstretched left arm. He was able to yank his arm from under the beam and make it back to the temporary safety, but the sharp, throbbing pain told him that his arm was not quite alright. He tried to ignore it for the moment, though, as he examined the possibly mortally wounded Jesse.  
  
"Are you alright?" Jesse gasped, noticing the look of pain on Mark's face and how he held his arm.  
  
"I'm fine, let me take a look at that wound." Mark was astounded at how Jesse could only think of Mark's minor injury, in comparison to his own serious wound.  
  
Jesse, to weak to argue, winced as Mark tore open his shirt to examine the wound. "Aw, that was my favorite shirt." Jesse tried to laugh softly, but that only resulted in a few wheezes and coughs.  
  
Mark chuckled, encouraged by his friend's intact humor. He carefully examined the wound, coming to the bleak realization that the bullet needed to come out. It had already damaged a major artery and would do more harm if left in. Mark singlehandedly (think about it) rummaged through his medical bag muttering, "That bullet's gotta come out." It would be possible to remove without surgery, but rather tricky, not to mention painful. He pulled out the forceps as Jesse's eyes widened in fear. "Hold on Jess. This is gonna hurt."  
  
Jesse swallowed hard. "Quite an understatement, eh?" He attempted a smile. It didn't work very well. He braced himself as Mark's steady hand, holding the gleaming forceps, approached the bloody wound. At first touch, the pain was so great that a convulsion shook his whole shoulder.  
  
Mark quickly pulled back, trying almost too hard to cause as little pain as possible. "I'm sorry! Jess, you have to hold still!"  
  
"I know," the younger man gasped. "I'm sorry."  
  
The whole ordeal lasted approximately 20-30 seconds, but, as these things always do, it seemed near to forever. By the end of the makeshift operation, Jesse's wound was bleeding even more profusely. Mark felt his own eyes well up as he watched a few stray tears trickle down Jesse's sweating, contorted face. The pain Mark had caused his young friend possibly hurt him just as much or more than it hurt Jesse. He began to doubt that, though, at Jesse's strained whimpers as Mark carefully bandaged the wound. He finished the dressing and exhaustedly leaned against the stable-enough-looking wall, still cradling his swollen, probably broken arm. "I'm all done, Jess, you relax now."  
  
Jesse opened his eyes and saw Mark still favoring his arm. "Now you can take care of that arm."  
  
Mark had almost forgotten about it, he was so concerned with Jesse. "Oh, yes, I suppose so."  
  
Jesse produced a small plank of wood that he had been absently picking at. "Be careful for splinters," he warned, feebly grinning.  
  
"Thanks Jess," he smiled, taking the piece of wood from Jesse. He carefully wrapped a cloth around it and made a makeshift splint, however that's done. Mark sighed deeply as he rose to check on their predicament. For some strange reason, the fire seemed to be keeping to the other side of the warehouse, giving them seemingly temporary security. But, on the other hand, they were trapped. There was no third hand about, there was no way to get out with both of them injured. Help couldn't come soon enough. He finally came to rest at Jesse's side. As he sat there in the burning building, his own arm probably broken and the young man he saw as a son lying in a small yet growing pool of his own blood, a certain realization happened upon Mark (besides the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do for the situation.) 


	3. A Little Male Bonding

"Jesse!" Mark exclaimed, kneeling beside the small form. "Jesse, you saved my life!"  
  
Mark's sudden outburst slightly startled Jesse, but mostly perplexed him. "Huh?"  
  
The older man was practically in tears. "You took a bullet for me Jess! Don't you remember!? You pushed me out of the way! It should be me lying there right now, not you!"  
  
Remembrance, and a small feeling of pride mixed with embarrassment came over Jesse and he grinned sheepishly. "Oh yeah," he wheezed. "It-it was no big deal."  
  
"'No big deal!'" Mark repeated. "No big deal! Jesse, you're a hero!"  
  
"Oh, well, I wouldn't go that far." Slight pause. "Hero, huh? Really?"  
  
Mark chuckled and patted Jesse's arm. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."  
  
Suddenly, a bit of smoke wafted over from the other side of the building, breaking up the tender moment between the two men by sending convulsing coughs through Jesse's weak body, of course causing even more pain. Mark tried to calm him down and hold him still, and soon the coughs were tranquilized into short, wheezing, agonizing breaths. Mark gently yet firmly pushed his fingers against the pulse point on the sweaty neck, attempting to slow the suddenly slightly accelerated bleeding. Jesse tensed at the sudden touch, then relaxed into it as he felt the excessive bleeding gradually slow. Mark removed his fingers and patted his young friend on the arm. But all poor Mark could do was sit by as every wheeze pierced into his heart. Why did poor Jesse have to take that bullet for him? Why couldn't he be the one lying there in pain? The shot was meant for him. Every look at the pale, twisted face made Mark wish more that he could take Jesse's place. He remembered back to some of the times he had had overnight vigils by Steve's hospital bedside. He remembered the pain of his son lying there, inches away from the grip of death. This hurt almost as much as it had with Steve. Almost… But Jesse was so young…   
  
"Mark," Jesse panted weakly. "Am I gonna be alright?"  
  
Mark was taken aback by the sudden question. How could he tell Jesse that if help didn't come soon… 


	4. The Rescue

Steve woke up with a start. Something was wrong. But before he could try and figure out what it was, his health (or lack thereof) got the better of him. (As I mentioned before, he had a bad sinus infection.) He was all stuffed up, his head was pounding, and he had a fever. But he tried to forget about his miserable sickness as he pondered over what he had woken up over. Then he remembered. "Dad and Jesse! Crap, I knew they'd get in trouble." He decided to call the station and see what had gone amiss. He wasn't that worried; for one thing, he was too delirious; and also, though Mark and especially Jesse were experts at getting into trouble, their lives were rarely in danger to the caliber that he had just heard from the guys at the station. They explained the whole thing to him, including what they were doing to get them out and where the warehouse was. Steve shakily lowered the phone back to the receiver as he digested the information that had just been relayed to him. His father and best friend trapped in a burning building, Jesse possibly dying, and Steve lying in bed -- sick. He finally made up his mind. He was going after them.  
*  
Jesse's eyes looked hopefully up into Mark's awaiting an answer to the agonizing question.  
  
"Jesse," Mark soothed gently, "Jesse, you saved my life. How could I let you die?"  
  
Jesse smiled weakly. That was good enough for him. But soon he began to feel his body weakening faster. Eventually, he gave into the velvet black darkness of unconsciousness.   
  
Suddenly, Mark heard a faint sound of someone calling him. He knew he knew that voice…how could he not? Who else called him 'Dad'? "Steve, is that you?"  
  
"Dad? Jesse?" The stuffed up voice that was Steve's was getting closer. He furiously tore at the rubble that separated him from his father.  
  
The first thing that Steve noticed when he finally reached his father was the makeshift splint on his arm. "Dad, are you alright? What hap-"  
  
"I'm fine," Mark assured his son. "Go help Jesse."   
  
Steve looked in the direction his father indicated, and the sight he saw nearly tore his heart out. He uncomfortably swallowed the knot forming in his throat, which happened to be part phlegm, and knelt down next to his small, pale best friend, who, as we have mentioned before, was lying in a pool of blood. Finding that Jesse was unresponsive, he put to fingers to the sweaty, clammy neck, expecting the worst, hoping for anything. "Dad," he called as he felt a weak, rapid, yet slightly slowing pulse, "Dad, he's unconscious."  
  
Mark continued to clear a path for them with his good arm. "Carry him!" he ordered his son.  
  
Steve lifted Jesse's limp form as easily and gently as he would a child, even his own little brother, if, that is, he happened to have one. Steve, whose fever was getting more of the better of him by the second, followed his father from the warehouse. A varitable plethora of cop cars along with an ambulance or two greeted the three men as they emerged from the burning building, which dramatically caved in behind them. 


	5. A Conclusion

Jesse slowly cracked his eyes open as he woke up in a very familiar place -- just not quite so familiar from this particular view. He looked across the bright, white hospital room and soon spotted Mark half-napping in a chair next to Jesse's bed, his left arm in a cast. Mark started to stir at the weak call of his name.  
  
"Jesse!" he exclaimed, instantly on his feet. "Jesse, you're awake. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Like I was shot and trapped in a burning building," he groaned.  
  
Mark chuckled. "Pretty accurate!"  
  
Jesse tried to laugh, then thought better of it at the sharp pain flowing through his chest. "How's the arm?"  
  
"Oh, not that bad. Small fracture, that's all." Mark sighed and tried to gather his thoughts into words. He hadn't planned to fall asleep while waiting for Jesse to wake up. "Jesse, I need to talk to you."  
  
"Why did I have a feeling that was coming?" Jesse grinned.  
  
Mark chuckled and finished gathering his thoughts. "Jesse, when we were trapped in that building, not sure when or if help would come, I was scared. Really scared.  
  
"All I could think of was you lying there, dying, and absolutely nothing I could do. I thought about the times I had done close to the same with Steve in the past, and the feeling was almost the same. A feeling of helplessness, hopelessness, and, … and love. Jesse, you took that bullet for me, and for that I am forever grateful. Jesse, if you had … you know, I just …"  
  
Jesse's misty eyes looked up at Mark's, fully understanding what the older man was trying to communicate.  
  
"Just don't ever do anything like that again!" Mark teased in conclusion.  
  
"Well, looks like the little Sleeping Beauty is finally awake!" Jesse and Mark were greeted rather boisterously by Steve and Amanda.  
  
"Hey guys!" Jesse welcomed weakly.   
  
"How are you doing?" Steve asked rather stuffily.  
  
"A bit better than you sound," Jesse returned playfully. "You should be in bed, you're sick!"  
  
"Hey! I was already up!"  
  
Amanda silenced the bickering boys. "Okay guys, cool it. We had to come see how you were doing."  
  
"Yeah, I hear our Jesse's the big hero!" Steve playfully rumpled his blushing best friend's already messy hair.  
  
"Oh, I don't know about all that," Jesse mumbled sheepishly. Then he got a little gleam in his eye. "But it was pretty bad in there. Inches away from the grip of death, not knowing when -- or if -- help would come. The flames dancing at our feet, the smoke choking our lungs--"  
  
"Uh, Jesse," Mark warned.  
  
"Well, close enough!" 


End file.
